Wreckage
by shialuvr222
Summary: Sometimes you need your own rules to survive in a place that has none. But sometimes those rules just don't work out. Sometimes those rules are your own undoing. Deathfic.


A/N: Well, this is (probably) a oneshot I wrote while listening to .45 by Shinedown (3). I say probably because the last time I wrote a Z-Land oneshot it turned into a twoshot, and my other oneshot will be turned into a multi-chapter as soon as I get Chapter 2 written. So for the time being this is a oneshot, and we'll go from there. :)

XXX

"Clint Eastwood is a genius."

"The only genius I know is Albert Einstein."

Columbus glanced over at Wichita. "You'd think they'd lay off once they got tired."

"Never," Little Rock mumbled rebelliously.

"Seriously, though, it's 12:30. Everyone needs sleep."

Wichita sounded slightly amused. "Well, maybe not you."

He sighed, but couldn't resist smiling. "Everyone _not_ driving."

They were on their way from Albuquerque, and had been on the road for almost six hours. They had stopped at an abandoned gas station about ten minutes ago, and now things were quiet. No zombies they could see. Then again, maybe that was because it was pitch black outside. As Tallahassee and Little Rock nodded off in the backseat, Wichita shifted to a more comfortable position and watched the road.

It didn't take Columbus long to realize that she wasn't trying to go to sleep. "You know, you don't have to stay up, I can watch for road hazards."

"I know how lonely it can get when no one else is awake," she replied, smirking a bit when she thought about how Columbus was the only person she'd ever known to use the term 'road hazards'.

"Where are we on the map?"

She grabbed the plastic-coated guide from the floor and surveyed their location. "About an hour out from Tucson."

"How long from there to Sierra Vista?"

"Hour and a half."

"Okay."

She folded the map and replaced it, shuffling her feet around. She was nervous, and she didn't know why.

"Hey-"

And that's when she saw it. Listening to Columbus, she glanced at the road and did a double-take when she noticed with growing urgency someone standing there in the middle of the road. Zombie or not, she didn't know, but when they turned the corner, there he was.

Columbus had cut off his sentence, having seen it at the same time as Wichita, and swerved. But there was something he didn't see, being in the driver's seat, that she did. The wrecked oil truck on the side of the road.

The wrecked oil truck on the side of the road, spilling its contents onto the highway.

She screamed a warning, but it was too late. They began spinning on the slick pavement, faster than he could control. He did his best, and for a moment, it looked like they could make it out of the way.

But it couldn't have been that easy. They hit another patch, and the car went careening off the road.

He twisted the wheel frantically, trying to regain control of the car. From Tallahassee's suppressed grunts and Little Rock's surprised yelps as they were tossed around in the back, Wichita figured that they weren't asleep anymore. Then, as the car left the road completely, they began to flip. Six times, until they came to a rather hard stop at the concrete wall separating the residential neighborhood from the highway.

The car was on its side, the driver's side sticking up into the air. She took a moment to assess her physical condition. She had flown into the windshield, somehow managing not to break the glass, but it was cracked, and she saw some of her blood in the spiderweb formation. She had at least one broken rib, and her right leg wouldn't bend. Her head throbbed, understandably.

She heard Tallahassee opening the door, curses flowing freely from his mouth, and Little Rock groaned, but climbed out of the car. At least they were okay.

Before she felt inclined to move, the vehicle creaked dangerously, and she was forced to attempt an exit. Shifting her leg was difficult, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her ribs ached. But she sucked it up and pushed herself up towards the exit, shoving her good leg against the passenger door that was facing the ground. She was now essentially standing in the car.

Glancing up to gauge the best exit strategy, she noticed Columbus wasn't moving to leave. In fact, he wasn't moving at all.

It took her slightly shocked brain a moment to realize why he hadn't fallen down next to her. He was wearing his seatbelt. She reached over to shake him awake.

She knew the signs: no motion, excessive amounts of blood, skin a shade too pale and a degree too cold. But she refused to accept what she saw, probably because she was so numb. Numb and tired.

She barely felt Tallahassee pull her from the car and lay her on the grass. It sank in about then, everything that had happened, and she lay there, gasping. Little Rock pulled her into a sitting position and leaned her against the wall.

One look. That was all it took. One look from Tallahassee after he looked at the wreckage, and she knew. He was gone.

She couldn't seem to find air. Little Rock went to see for herself, and Tallahassee sat next to her, feeling, for the first time, old.

And Wichita?

Wichita cried.

XXX

A/N: Before someone tells me that seatbelts are the safest bet and that Columbus would be the only one who lived instead of the only one who died for wearing one, I heard about this guy who went to my church – his sister and I were friends at the time – and he was in a car crash, and of four or five people in the car (I can't remember exactly how many), he was the only one wearing a seatbelt, and he was the only one who died. SO THERE.

Why do I pick on Columbus so? I don't know. Tis quite odd.


End file.
